Homecoming
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #5 Admiral Kirk sneaks aboard Spock's Enterprise to spend Christmas with his friends. Why is everyone acting so strangely? What are they hiding?
1. Chapter 1

"One to beam up!" Jim Kirk smiled as he hopped onto the base transporter stage. Any chance to board the Enterprise was cause for excitement, but this was something more. It had all happened so quickly, he almost expected to find himself dozing at his musty desk back at Starfleet Operations. The last minute business calling him here to Starbase Twelve had coincided perfectly with his favorite starship's layover. He could not resist hiding behind his mission's veil of secrecy just long enough to drop in, unannounced. Shake up Spock a little and put a chink in that steely Vulcan armor. Maybe it was Christmas in the air. He felt like a mischievous little kid.

Kirk's grin materialized intact aboard the Enterprise and widened considerably at the transporter chief's astonished gasp and the awed look on her trainee's face. Sheer reflex guided Rand's finger toward the intercom button as she prepared to announce, "Admiral on board."

"Belay that!" he cried, hopping down. "This visit is strictly private and I want to keep it that way."

Janice Rand hesitated, obviously torn between obeying an admiral and her more immediate loyalty to Spock. "Sir, the captain will be—"

"Pleasantly surprised. C'mon Rand, don't spoil my fun. I won't let him singe your tail feathers."

She shook her head, doubtful, but not touching the button. "I'll probably regret this."

"Oh no you won't," he promised, eyes roaming to the odd bits of greenery attached here and there to the transporter console. "What _is_ that—holly?" He squinted at a wilted sprig of gray foliage above the doorway. " _Mistletoe?"_

"Uh…yes, I believe so, sir. You'll find the captain on the bridge. Cadet orbital training."

Kirk knew when the subject was being changed, even if he didn't exactly understand why. "Don't tell him!" he warned, wagging a finger.

It took only a moment to reconnoiter at the door, to take advantage of a break in foot traffic and dash cross-corridor for the turbolift. He entered it unseen and laughed softly to himself as the doors whooshed securely shut. _So far so good_. He used manual control on the chance that the computer would automatically voice print him and alert the captain. Who could tell what Spock had programmed into the system, given more than a year carte blanche? He rode out the final seconds with fingers crossed.

The turbolift doors whispered open…and it was _perfect_.

Directly ahead sat the unsuspecting target, Vulcan head and shoulders rising above the command chair. Spock seemed to be jotting some sort of notes while the youthful trainees worked through an orbital drill.

Kirk bit his lip. Catlike, he tiptoed down the steps, then forward into the command pit—one, two, three careful paces. _Had Spock gone deaf?_ Standing just behind him, Kirk held his breath, studying the neat whorl of hair at Spock's crown, watching the lean Vulcan fingers wield the stylus. His insides began to jump with pent laughter. Another instant and he would give himself away.

Oh-so-gently he placed a hand on Spock's right shoulder.

The stylus went still. The dark head lifted, then turned.

It can only be said that Spock exploded from the chair. By some impossible maneuver he was suddenly upright, facing Kirk, while his stylus and Padd hit the floor.

"Jim!" he choked, then immediately attempted to compose himself. "Admiral."

Chairs swiveled all across the bridge and there was a mad scuffle to attention. _Beautiful._

"As you were," Kirk said benevolently. As the youngsters settled back to their stations, he looked at Spock, who seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. "Well, Captain?"

At last Spock remembered his manners. "Admiral Kirk, welcome aboard."

Kirk's eyes were drawn to the shoulder of Spock's uniform jacket—its top buckle undone and corner flap drooping. That alone was remarkable, but it was the nosegay of holly tucked into the buckle hole that really captured his interest. "Charming," he said, all but strangling on the word, "but Spock…really…is that regulation?"

He should have known the Vulcan would take him seriously. Spock immediately stripped away the decoration and rearranged his uniform in silence.

"I was kidding," Kirk whispered.

But apparently Spock did not appreciate the admiral's concept of humor. Very coolly and quietly he said, "I was not informed of your arrival. I apologize for the negligence of my crew and…any other irregularities that you may observe." Hardly missing a beat, he added, "May I inquire as to the nature and length of your visit?"

Kirk had the uncomfortable feeling that it could not be too brief a stay for Captain Spock. Eyeing the trainees, he said, "Can you leave them on their own for a bit?"

"Safety locks are in place," Spock replied.

"Ah, training wheels." Kirk gave a taut smile. "Let's walk, shall we?"

As they strolled the corridors, Kirk said, "For starters, don't blame Rand. I bullied her into silence. My slipping aboard was meant as a nice surprise, a chance to see my friends again. This is no inspection tour—so just relax, will you? I'll pretend not to notice whatever's going on."

Doubtless he had beamed into the middle of something. Spock did not deny it, which for a Vulcan was very significant. "You've asked me how long I'm going to stay. Well, I have some time coming back at Headquarters. I'd like to deadhead awhile here on the Enterprise. At least spend Christmas."

Spock visibly paled, but kept moving. "Of course you are welcome, Jim."

Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan teeth grinding. He did not feel at all welcome. In fact, each time Spock mouthed the word, he felt a little less welcome and a little more like grabbing hold of him and demanding a straight answer. Yet he walked on, pretending. They were moving through deck three when the intercom began to pipe soft strains of music through the corridors. Amazed, Kirk stopped, listened, and promptly forgot his promise to ignore anything unusual.

"Spock. What's that?"

The captain clasped his hands behind his back and stolidly gazed at the deck. "I believe it is entitled 'Adeste Fideles'."

"I _know_ what it is! I meant—" A slap caught Kirk squarely between his shoulder blades, knocking the wind clear out of him. He whirled, preparing to skewer the undisciplined lout, and burst into laughter instead. "Bones, you slime devil!"

Here at last was normalcy: good old Leonard McCoy, as bitingly blunt as Spock was inscrutable. But McCoy's grin seemed strangely frozen as he bounced on his toes.

"Jim," he drawled, all Georgian hospitality and bull pucky. "Jim—why, isn't this just a wonderful su-prise!"

Kirk did not remember the doctor ever looking quite so jolly…or insincere. As his own smile waned, the captain and chief surgeon exchanged a pithy glance.

Spock suddenly excused himself. "Admiral, I really must return to the bridge."

"Of course, Captain."

The Vulcan had hardly passed from sight when the muted Christmas carols came to an abrupt end.

"Hey, I liked that," Kirk protested. His eyes lit on the holly and berry boutonniere adorning McCoy's jacket. " _And_ those. But Bones, be honest now," he finished in a secretive whisper, "is Spock completely out of his Vulcan mind?"

McCoy snorted like his old irascible self. "The Vulcan is certifiably sane, Jim. If he's lost any portion of his anatomy, it's a ways farther south."

"South…?" Kirk said, mystified.

But before McCoy could answer, Kirk pulled up short and signaled for quiet. "Wait. Listen!" McCoy looked as if he would rather not, as if he, too, were considering some matter that demanded his immediate atttention. "Hear that, Bones?"

 _Jingle-swish-jangle-swish_ it sounded, closer, louder. _Jingle-jangle-swish_ turning the corner, and here came Commander Uhura, her shiny Starfleet boots festooned with golden bells, her eyes large as saucers as she jangled to a panicked halt. "Admiral Kirk! Oh, sir! What a marvelous surprise, "she crooned, looking both stricken and ecstatic. Her smile seemed curiously lopsided.

Kirk was in the process of clearing his throat when she pulled a quick reverse and jingled out of sight. Now he _was_ getting annoyed. "Alright Bones, what's going on around here? And explain that crack about Spock's anatomy. Is something wrong with him?"

McCoy looked down at his sleeve and casually plucked a speck of lint. "Why, Jim…there's not a thing wrong with Spock. No, siree."

"Neither north nor south?"

McCoy nodded hard. "Yup."

So whatever was going on, they were all in on it, clear up to their brass. Kirk had half a mind to just forget the whole thing, leave them to their private intrigues and beam back down to the starbase. But the stubborn half of his mind was not inclined to give up so easily. If an admiral's rank was driving a wedge between him and his old friends, they really needed this time together.

But just now, togetherness seemed a rather dim hope. Spock had not returned, and McCoy shortly found his own excuse to bolt, leaving Kirk stranded in the corridor. Feeling downright forsaken, Kirk descended alone into Engineering, where he finally collected a genuinely warm greeting.

"Aye sir, tis good to see ye," grinned Montgomery Scott, fondly looking him up and down.

"You too, Scotty." Kirk had never meant anything more truly in his whole life. "I was beginning to think this entire ship had gone nuts. Scotty—" he almost hesitated to ask, "what's the matter with everyone?"

The chief engineer shook his head ruefully. "I canna rightly tell ye. It's Captain Spock's business, not mine. But believe me, tis nothing sinister. Lord, no."

Kirk knew better than to press Scott any further, and though he had little to go on, he left feeling somewhat reassured. As a matter of strategy he made for the recreation deck. Wherever crews gathered, there was talk. While captain, he had often mingled with his personnel, keeping his eyes and ears open to their moods. But this time proved different. It was no longer his crew, his Enterprise. He stepped from the turbolift into a furtive atmosphere of muffled voices and stealthy movements. Faces peeked out from doorways, spotted him, and instantly disappeared. _Damned sentries,_ Kirk fumed. They were sounding the alert. _But_ _why_? He stalked into the main lounge and came to an astonished halt, momentarily forgetting all his aggravation.

What he saw left no room for anything but wonder. His eyes strained to gather in all the beauty at once, scarcely blinking as they darted from sun-dappled snowdrift to frozen pond to leaf-stripped birch. Common sense told him this was mainly an illusion, but an artful illusion that stretched impossible distances to mountains full of frosted timber. He held his breath as a herd of mule deer filed out of the trees to forage in a snowy meadow. He breathed again, remembering they could not possibly see him—they were only holographic projections of some sort. Finally his eyes settled on the magnificent reality that rose center stage, almost touching the blue sky-ceiling. It was better than Rockefeller Center, every branch of the conifer laden with shiny balls and birds and fruits and little Christmas figurines, all liberally interspersed with twinkling multicolor lights. There was just too much to see all at once.

"Well sir, what do you think?"

Kirk inhaled a realistic pine scent as he turned to Commander Sulu. "Delightful. Utterly amazing." How in the world had Spock managed this? And why? His attention shifted to the mounds of beribboned presents surrounding the tree, to a table of decorated cookies and gingerbread houses dripping candy icicles. Helping himself to a star-shaped confection, he leaned nearer the gifts.

"Admiral." Sulu's voice held an edge of panic. "Perhaps you'd like to come this way and—"

"Wait a minute." Kirk began reading nametags—some familiar, many not—but one appearing twice as often as any other. The name sounded Vulcan. "T'Beth," he pronounced. "Who's…T'Beth?" There was no answer, so he glanced up at the ship's first officer. Sulu looked downright pallid. "Maybe I didn't say it right, Mister Sulu. Who is T-apostrophe-B-e-t-h?"

"I am." The bold, girlish voice seemed to come from the tree itself. Then a branch swayed aside, creating an opening in the decorated foliage. A young girl emerged, wearing an old-issue perscan device at waist level. Her dark hair was cut short, almost pixyish. _A child aboard ship?_ "You must be Admiral James Tiberius Kirk," she primly declared. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Kirk stared hard at the strange yet oddly familiar little face, curiosity slowly giving way to disbelief. _Could it be…? Was this the reason for all the bizarre secrecy and irregularities aboard a Vulcan's ship?_ He gave a short, less than humorous laugh and said, "Well, _hello…_ "

ooooo

All day Kirk held onto his patience. After all, there was no particular hurry. Checking the captain's schedule, he knew when Spock would most likely be in his quarters. As a perk of rank, Kirk used his security clearance to access the captain's own shipboard monitoring system and confirm the Vulcan's presence, and the fact that he was alone.

Kirk took great satisfaction in slapping the doorchime, and he was not surprised when the door slid right open. Spock never had been one to "dally". How fitting that such a word should pop into his mind just now. Inside, Spock stood solemnly awaiting to collect bloody hell. Oh yes, his second-in-command had duly warned him.

The door snapped shut, locking them into their first private moment in months, and it should not have been like this, not between old friends.

"Admiral," Spock said stiffly, his angular features as impervious as stone.

But Kirk was not fooled by appearances. Now, more than ever, he knew the frailty of that Vulcan mask. "The girl—she's yours, isn't she?" Spock's dark eyes refocused on empty space, shutting out Kirk completely. Jim's temper flared. "A full-blown conspiracy! Bones, Scotty, Uhura, Sulu—all that shushing and scurrying and creeping around!"

Silence descended, and Spock seemed to struggle with himself. At last he said, "I call the child T'Beth. But you would more likely recognize her legal surname—Lemoine. Cristabeth Janis Lemoine…of Ildarani."

"Lemoine…Lemoine." And there it was, though the incident had happened some years ago, under Kirk's command. He recalled bringing aboard two Ildaran colonists, one a lovely halfling who was desperately ill. Most memorable of all, he had brought them aboard at Spock's request. "I can think of two Lemoines from Ildarani. Justrelle—the bad-tempered one with a French accent—and the daughter with some kind of rare disease. Audrey? Andrea?"

"Adrianna."

Spock's gaze shifted, and Kirk tracked it to the hologram of a golden-haired lady, incredibly beautiful and jarringly out-of-place on a Vulcan's Spartan desktop. Walking over, he picked up the crystal image for closer inspection. It was her, alright. The name may have eluded him, but he would not likely forget a face like that.

"The child, Spock. This…is her mother?"

Spock gave him a cold look. "I do not care to discuss it."

Kirk could not contain the rush of irritation. His fingers clutched the holo—this hunk of crystal that seemed to embody all the tension between them—and commenced to slam it down. Spock moved fast. Kirk's arm was in mid-swing when the Vulcan seized his wrist. This caused the holo to catapult from his grip, but suddenly Spock's other hand appeared at desk level, making a perfect catch. All this maneuvering left them in an awkward tangle. Kirk was still trying to sort out the action when Spock unhanded him, and with a dark look, placed the hologram out of his superior's reach.

"Admiral," he said in a dangerous tone, "I must respectfully ask that you leave my quarters."

Kirk could scarcely believe his ears. Stretching to his full, somewhat lesser height, he said, "Captain. Are _you_ dismissing _me?_ "

Just as dangerously, Spock replied, "Leave, Jim."

"So _now_ it's 'Jim'. You play the friendship card when it's convenient, don't you? Spock, do you even know what a friend _is_?"

It was with more frustration than anger that Kirk left the captain to his damnable Vulcan privacy. Another man might have thrown up his arms and jumped ship, but not him. Instead, he put his surging adrenaline to productive use by transferring his travel kit from Starbase Twelve to the Enterprise V.I.P. cabin. It had all the feeling of an entrenchment.

With his belongings unpacked, he programmed some hot coffee from the cabin dispenser and settled down to brood. All those years, and not a word to him about T'Beth. A word to Bones, to Sulu, a word to the helmsman trainee and the assistant chief of housekeeping. But to James T. Kirk? No. Never mind that Kirk had told Spock about fathering his son, David. Friends confided in friends, didn't they?

Well, it seemed that Spock saw things a little differently. But why care? Why even waste time thinking about it? Let the son-of-a-bitch handle his own affairs. Let the overgrown leprechaun play superVulcan to his green heart's content.

Kirk was doctoring his second cup of coffee with something a bit more potent when his cabin doorchime sounded. _Had Spock come to apologize?_ Tucking his flask under the chair cushion, he lowered his boots from the game table.

"Enter," he said hopefully.

The cabin door opened to reveal a Spock miniature in pink velour. Kirk nearly spilled his coffee. He set down the mug. "Yes? What do you want?" The words came unintentionally harsh, but the girl did not seem intimidated by an admiral-in-the-flesh.

Boldly she walked in and took a seat, riveting him with those penetrating Spock-eyes. "I'd like to talk to you, sir, if I may."

"Proceed," he said, equally formal. So this was the child who had turned a stoic Vulcan and his starship upside-down. That fact alone made her interesting. It remained to be seen exactly how she had accomplished such a wonder.

Forty minutes later, Kirk's head fairly spun with impressions of the girl. All hint of formality was gone. Curled up in a chair, she chattered away as if she had known him and everyone aboard the Enterprise for years. It was not so much _what_ she had to say, but the _way_ she said it. Or did he have that backward? How strange it seemed, watching emotion play freely over those Spockian features. And that oh-so-innocent smile of hers—somehow it did not quite match the look in those hazel eyes. But no doubt about it, she was a real charmer in that feminine jumpsuit, with glossy dark hair and holly berries tucked over an ear—a rather oddly shaped ear, from what he could see of it. Adorable. Absolutely. Would she _never_ leave?

When the doorchime sounded again, Kirk welcomed the interruption. Easing his collar with a fingertip, he called, "Come in!"

Spock swept in like a prowling LeMatya, and Kirk's muscles tightened. "Captain."

"Admiral Kirk." The Vulcan coolly passed him over, the predator eyes settling on T'Beth, and softening. "I am sure you are disturbing the admiral. Have you finished your lessons?"

T'Beth ducked her head and admitted, "Not quite." She rose to her feet so that Kirk saw them side by side for the first time, and their resemblance was even more telling. Equally telling was the child's glowing eyes as she looked upon her father and promised, "I'll go now. But are we still having dinner together? Just the two of us?"

It was clear that she loved Spock—fiercely, possessively, with an almost romantic zeal. It was more love than any father could rightfully expect, an embarrassing wealth of love for a logical-minded Vulcan. Such concentrated affection should have made Spock uncomfortable, but incredibly he responded to it.

Awe-struck, Kirk watched Spock gaze fondly upon his daughter and say, "In my quarters, just the two of us."

With a happy smile T'Beth took her leave, and Spock turned to Kirk, more pussycat than LeMatya.

Kirk stood. "Fatherhood suits you," he said by way of a cautious peace offering. He was still plenty sore, but this tender, paternal Spock intrigued him. Where had this Vulcan been hiding all these years? And where in stars had he been hiding his daughter? "It's plain to see that you suit T'Beth just fine, too. That kid is crazy over you."

Spock finally looked embarrassed. "I apologize if she intruded on your privacy. At times she can be rather…foreword.'

"She wasn't a pest," Kirk said generously. "And don't worry, I didn't pump her for any personal information. There is, however, one thing I'm wondering about." In light of T'Beth's conversation, he could not resist saying, "I get the idea that she's an old hand around here. Exactly…how long _has_ she been living aboard the Enterprise?"

Clasping his hands behind his back, the Vulcan assumed a faraway expression. "Three months, one week, and five-point-seven standard days."

Kirk let out an explosive breath. "Three and a half _months?_ "

Now Spock was standing at attention. "I offer no excuse, Admiral. I am fully aware that regulations only allow for civilian transport under extraordinary circumstances, and then only to the first suitable port. I chose to disregard those regulations." An eyebrow rose slightly. "One might, however, deem T'Beth's circumstances extraordinary…and _no_ port is suitable for an unaccompanied minor."

Kirk stared at him. "You said you offer no excuse."

"None worth considering."

"So you _did_ ignore regulations."

The Vulcan was silent.

"Spock, it's me—Jim Kirk. I'm _famous_ for shredding the rulebook. But _you!_ This is absolutely amazing!" Some of the tension left Spock's shoulders. "Of course, you can't have her on board indefinitely. You _are_ working on some other plan. Right?"

Spock met his eyes. "After warp-out tomorrow, we are proceeding to Ceti-Mega Four. Vulcan lies directly en route."

Kirk did some quick figuring. "We'll roll in on Christmas day."

"I will personally deliver her to the Northern Encampment at Pashir, where she will remain with her grandparents."

"With Sarek and Amanda. And what about T'Beth's mother? Adrianna?"

A muscle twitched at Spock's jaw line and he shook his head in surrender. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Kirk listened to the brief story, intent on every word. Spock had met T'Beth's mother while taking part in a research project on Ildarani. They were planning marriage when she became ill. The finest doctors at Starfleet Medical Center were unable to save her, but by sustaining her brain-dead body, she was able to carry a baby to term. Adrianna's mother actively disliked Spock and claimed the girl for her own. Spock quickly pointed out to Kirk that it was within the woman's rights, and that she had provided the child with a stable home. But he had not laid eyes on his daughter until Justrelle suddenly visited the Enterprise three and a half months ago. As it turned out, Justrelle was dying, and concern for Cristabeth's welfare had brought about an apparent change of heart. And so Spock took charge of his daughter.

The Vulcan's concise phrases stripped the tragic tale of any romance, but if that protective leap for the hologram were any indication, he had shared more with Adrianna than a few blissful nights of intellectual affinity.

Kirk hardly knew what to say. "Spock, I'm sorry. I didn't know she died." And he might have added _, it seems there are a lot of things I didn't know._

Spock merely nodded. "Since taking custody of T'Beth, I have had some difficulty determining how best to proceed."

"I can't say I'd be in a hurry, either," Kirk agreed, "seeing that your father is involved."

The Vulcan eyes sparked. "I assure you, Sarek's opinion did not figure into the delay."

"Not in the least?" Kirk raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, then. My mistake. You wanted the kid with you. She wanted to stay. It makes perfect sense to me. Good job, Spock. For once you've done the human thing."

Spock abruptly rose. Looking daggers at Kirk, he said, "Admiral, you may use this information any way that satisfies your conscience, but I see no reason for you to insult me." And he headed for the door.

"Hold on!" Kirk left his chair and faced Spock with his own share of anger. "I'm not finished talking to you." Spock turned, a lifetime of discipline showing in the smooth, impassive maneuver. But his eyes were still smoldering. "First the holly," Kirk said, biting off each word, "then the carols. And now this…this _attitude_ of yours. You're bound and determined to cast me as some kind of Scrooge, aren't you? And if you don't know what _that_ means, look it up. Shall I spell it for you?"

That jarred the Vulcan mask, but only a bit. Spock considered a moment before saying, "Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol. Jim, you are a Starfleet admiral, sworn to carry out your duties."

"You have a hell of a nerve talking duty to me, Spock. If your conscience is smarting, turn _yourself_ in. You've done it before. Meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you'd put things on this ship back the way they were."

Spock narrowly eyed him. "Is that an order?"

Kirk sighed in frustration. "No Spock, it's only a damned _request_."


	2. Chapter 2

It was a chilly night aboard ship. The tension at dinner gave Kirk a sour stomach, and he retired early. But apparently Spock gave the situation some thought, for next morning Kirk awoke to a distant caroling of bells. At breakfast he found a vase of poinsettias on the table, and some uniforms sported a Christmassy touch. Yet the whole business rang a little hollow, as if most of the fun had gone out of it. Kirk was no longer in a holiday mood himself, and prior to warp-out he escaped back into his cabin.

Draping his jacket over the desk chair, he settled into upholstered comfort with an antique book. He had been saving _From the Earth to the Moon_ for just such an occasion. While in the midst of the Baltimore Gun Club, the doorchime rang and he reluctantly set Jules Verne aside.

T'Beth was back.

She noticed the leather-bound volume as soon as she walked in. "What's that?"

"An old-fashioned book."

Coming closer, she asked, "Can I read it, too?"

"No, I'm afraid not. It's much too fragile."

With an odd little half-smile, she said, "Not suitable for children?"

The question took Kirk aback. Surely she had used the phrase naively, not as an adult would mean it. He gave himself a mental shake. Was he letting his trouble with Spock color his feelings toward the child? He should be making a special effort to get along with her—but how much easier that would be if she went somewhere else.

"Don't you have school?" he asked.

"It's early," she replied.

"What about your father. Does he know you're here?"

She touched the perscan module at her waist. "No, but he can find me."

Moving to his desk, she sat down and fingered the gold admiral's braid on his jacket sleeve. He had to wonder at T'Beth's fascination with him, but he did not have to stick around and endure it. Rising, he opened a cabinet and placed the book safely beside his journal. Then he retrieved his jacket from T'Beth's inquisitive hands.

Putting it on, he said, "Study hard, enroll in the Academy, and someday you'll have one of your own."

T'Beth jumped up and gripped his arm with an urgency that startled him. "There's still time," she said.

As literal as her father—couldn't get a joke. Kirk smiled. "I should hope so, at your age."

"No. I mean there's still time for you to leave the ship."

His smile faded. "Now why would I want to do that?"

Her cryptic little shrug was even more troubling than her words. "I don't think you're going to have much fun here. Father's always so busy."

ooooo

It was good knowing that T'Beth was restricted from the bridge. Here in the ship's control center, only the computer chattered, and the banks of telltales outshone even a Christmas tree.

Quietly Kirk roamed the balcony while Spock issued orders from the command chair as unconcerned as if admirals prowled his bridge every day. The Enterprise left orbit and was attaining warp speed to Vulcan when Kirk came to stand at Spock's right. From long years of habit, the arrangement felt backward.

The captain spared him a cool glance. Gone was the easy conversation and flashes of subtle humor they had shared in the past. Saddened, Kirk turned toward the lift and said, "I'm going to wander around the ship for awhile. See what trouble I can get into."

He did not have to travel far to find it. Trouble met him outside sickbay in a spill of angry voices.

"Well, that's a fine thing! Christine, are you sure? Did they really—"

"Leonard, not so loud."

"Don't tell me what to do, dammit! I _am_ still head of this department, and if I want to—"

The commotion abruptly ended with Kirk's arrival. Red-faced and flustered, McCoy and Doctor Chapel looked at each other, then back at Kirk.

"Am I interrupting?" Kirk asked.

Chapel tried to smile and failed badly. "Not really, Admiral. We were just…having a professional discussion."

"Bones?"

"That's about it." McCoy's unconvincing words were clipped with a fiercely controlled anger that seemed directed as much at Kirk as toward his colleague.

Uneasy, Kirk said, "Hey, I just wanted to let you know I got the joke."

McCoy frowned. "What joke?"

"In the corridor, remember? 'A ways farther south', you said. Not Spock's mind—his _heart._ "

McCoy did not look amused. Brushing off the urgent pressure of Chapel's fingers, he bluntly said, "Jim, may I ask what you're doing aboard ship?"

"You may _ask…_ " said Kirk, but his sickly rendition of the old chestnut fell hopelessly flat, and some part of him sank with it. Who _were_ these dour-faced strangers? He turned, and still eyeing them over his shoulder, took two steps and bumped into something short and soft and smelling of chocolate. T'Beth ricocheted off him and caught her balance. Staring wide-eyed at the arm of his jacket, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Kirk knew what he would find. It was probably his own fault for not looking where he was going, but he could not help being annoyed. Sure enough, there was a sticky brown smear on his sleeve.

"Fudge," T'Beth admitted sheepishly. " _Please_ don't tell Father. I'm not supposed to eat sweets. He says…" Assuming a Spock-like pose, she mimicked his intonation perfectly. "It has a detrimental effect on the Vulcan intellect."

Kirk could not help laughing. Then T'Beth started in, and even Chapel and McCoy were breaking up. Afterward, Kirk wondered why he had found the child so irritating before. Maybe he just wasn't used to being around kids. Maybe he should give her another chance. Wiped clean and fueled with the last piece of T'Beth's illicit fudge, he allowed her to give him the Grand Tour.

One would have thought the Enterprise belonged to T'Beth as she pulled him bodily from deck to deck, all the while regaling him with her knowledge of the starship and its inhabitants. She was Spock's girl, alright—a quick study. But she was also a little show-off, and Kirk's first impression of her as a busybody was proving all too accurate. Whenever they were alone, she peppered the conversation with gossipy bits she could not possibly have gleaned from her father. The kid really _was_ getting annoying.

As lightly as possible Kirk told her, "You sure know your way around, don't you? There's nothing wrong with that, but a loose tongue linked to those sharp Vulcan ears could prove a dangerous combination."

Shrugging off his remark, T'Beth chatted her way through the track-gymnasium. "…And here's where Father gives Commander Sulu lessons in Asumi combat-dance. Three and a half months, and Sulu's already a green sash like you! Father says he shows 'extraordinary potential'. Sulu outshines _any_ human he's ever known." She laughed. "Did you know that Sulu's name, Hikaru, means 'shining one'?"

Kirk caught her sly, sidelong glance and spun her around, meeting those secretive eyes straight on. "Alright, young lady. I'm beginning to catch onto your game."

"Game?" She said, unruffled. "What game? I don't know what you mean."

"And I don't believe that for one minute." His hands gripped her thin shoulders. "You're trying to make me _jealous_."

Her eyes widened innocently. "Oh, no I wasn't. I'm sorry. _Are_ you jealous, Admiral?"

"I think you know that's not true. I think—"

Suddenly she began wiggling and cried out in a tearful voice, "No, stop it, let go—you're hurting me!"

She seemed to twist free of him, when in fact he had dropped his hands in bafflement. As she edged away, rubbing her shoulders, Kirk finally made sense of the mystifying transformation. He found Captain Spock watching at the gym entrance. There was no telling how long Spock had been standing there, but it must have been long enough. The Vulcan eyes did not waver from their icy appraisal of Kirk as T'Beth ran weeping to her father and buried her face in his jacket.

With an arm slipping protectively around the child, Spock asked, "Trouble, Jim?"

It was one of those so-win scenarios that Kirk detested; bitterly he resigned himself to an escalation of the Vulcan cold war. "It would seem that your daughter has a talent for trouble."

Spock glanced down at T'Beth's dark head of hair. Her voice muffled against him as she accused, "He's jealous of Sulu. I was only telling him how good Sulu is at Asumi…and…and he got mad at me. He even called me a liar."

Spock's eyebrow rose. There were few things more important to a Vulcan than truth. Of course, T'Beth would know how to use that to her advantage. Spock would dislike having his daughter called a liar, even more so in an apparent fit of jealousy. It showed in every inch of him.

Kirk looked at T'Beth's dramatically heaving shoulders. "You clever little girl, what a performance." His eyes went to his dear, indignant friend. He badly wanted to defend himself—but how utterly futile it seemed. After all, Spock thought he had _seen_ Kirk hurting the child. There was nothing left to say.

ooooo

It was quiet now aboard ship, downright grim. Intercoms blurted only routine messages, boots clicked instead of jingling, and even peppermint and fudge had disappeared from the cabin replicator menu. All that remained of the season were a few forlorn bits of holly—and thank heavens, the main lounge.

Kirk had had a bellyful of the captain's unrelenting formality and T'Beth's triumphant little glances from afar. Maybe she had been forbidden any further contact with the mean admiral, but everyone else seemed to have picked up the idea, too. Only in the lounge, with its magnificent Christmas display, did Kirk find any relief from the ship-wide current of hostility. Here, someone occasionally offered a smile or at least said 'hello'.

The specter of his Headquarters office was beginning to look attractive when Kirk sank onto the tree-side bench. A youthful yeoman seated across the clearing averted her face, and pretending not to see him, left the lounge by a circuitous route. The same thing happened with a security man by the pond, and then a pair of trainees vanished from a wooded path. One by one they crept out in a slow but thorough exodus, until Kirk found himself completely isolated.

An ache settled into his throat. He could not remember the last time he had felt so utterly miserable, but he refused to give in to it. No—he would _not_ let them win. He had set his mind on enjoying the solitude when he heard footsteps stirring the fake snow.

Doctor McCoy broke into the clearing and almost stumbled in his shock at finding Kirk there. Too late now, he was trapped. With a sour 'are you still around' expression he faced up to the ordeal demanded by Starfleet—and common—courtesy: talking to the admiral.

With his arms tightly folded across his chest, McCoy muttered, "Nice arrangement in here."

"Damn nice," Kirk said gruffly. Clearly this sham was not going to work. He rose up, ready to have it out. "Bones. You've always been frank with me, at times to a fault. Tell me what's going on, will you? Snubs, glares, stilted conversation. Strangers and even friends are giving me the treatment. What the blazes is this all about?"

McCoy's eyes went steely. "Well old buddy, it's like this. Things were pretty rocky when T'Beth first came aboard ship, but over the past months this crew has grown rather fond of her—and through her, a bit closer to the captain, too. It may not be the same blend as when you commanded, but we've got something and it works. Maybe we've become a little clannish. The fact is, we don't care to see our captain's arm twisted—or T'Beth's, for that matter."

So the gymnasium scene had been making the rounds. Somehow Kirk was not surprised. It was too good a story for T'Beth to keep to herself. But he also realized there was more to McCoy's remark. "What exactly are you driving at—that I'm pressuring Spock in some way?"

"None of us are blind, Jim! You come aboard and straightaway T'Beth gets dumped on Vulcan. Never mind what that rigid culture might do to a kid like her. Never mind that Spock was at least starting to consider some other options. No, sir—you just keep spouting those regulations, chapter and verse."

Kirk was astonished. "C'mon, Bones. Me, spouting regulations? For your information, this trip to Vulcan is Spock's idea…and he ought to know what's best for his daughter."

McCoy's mouth screwed up in disgust. "I'm not convinced of that—any of it, even if _your_ stories happen to mesh. Spock would, of course, defend you to his dying breath. It's something in that green blood of his."

Kirk's red blood hit boiling. "So then our stories do agree. But you've been hearing _other_ stories that you'd rather believe?"

"Plenty of them," declared McCoy, and he promptly left in a huff.

So there it was. Rumors were circulating through the Enterprise like poison, no doubt leading back to a single prattling, conniving source. Kirk strode from the lounge determined to confront Spock's daughter. Ten minutes later he discovered her perscan unit tucked into a library desk. Had someone warned her? Who else but McCoy?

Kirk had forgotten how vast a starship could be when searching single-handedly for someone who didn't care to be found. All he had were his legs, his eyes, and his intuition. T'Beth was not in the cabin she shared with Uhura, nor in any of her favorite haunts. Nobody Kirk collared seemed to have any idea where she might be. There was no outwitting a ship's network in full alert. After several fruitless hours, he concluded that she had gone to ground in her father's quarters. Conceding to a temporary defeat, he returned, footsore, to his cabin.

And there she was!

T'Beth had probably been in his cabin the entire time. Uninvited, unconcerned, she sat cross-legged on the floor, paging through his journal. Kirk's teeth went on edge as she coolly glanced in his direction. Angered more by this casual invasion of privacy than having played the fool, he strode over and snatched the journal from her hands.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded to know. "That door was locked."

Her left brow rose at an insolent angle. "Was it?"

"You know darn well it was! And what gives you the right to thumb through my personal journal?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "It's _interesting_ …especially some of the things you have to say about me and my father."

Kirk froze. What exactly _had_ he written? Or even more to the point: What might she make of it?

"Get up!" he snapped.

She rose to her feet in an unhurried manner, as if the move had been her idea, after all; as if she were not in trouble clear up to her semi-pointed ear tips.

Kirk held the journal under her nose. "I'll not have you breaking in here and rummaging through my belongings. Do you understand?"

Shrugging, she said, "I figured this was the last place you'd look. You didn't expect me to sit around doing nothing, did you?"

A dangerous heat rolled up Kirk's collar. Working to calm himself, he turned aside and took a deep breath. Flipping his journal onto the game table, he shed his jacket and let out the breath very, very slowly.

"What are you doing?" T'Beth asked behind him.

He whirled back, as angry as ever. "It's that incessant, undisciplined curiosity of yours that's half the problem, girl! Your mouth is the other half!" He jabbed a finger in her impertinent face. "I know exactly what you've been up to around here, and there'll be an end to the lies and the gossip as of now!"

"And I suppose you'll tell my father that!" she shot back. "Well go ahead, he won't believe anything _you_ have to say!"

"Oh, he'll believe it," Kirk assured her, "because, my dear, _you_ will do the telling."

A ripple of worry threatened the girl's composure. Then she blinked, thought a moment, and her expression became quite smug. "Of course. You're right. I _should_ be the one to tell him. Father _needs_ to know why I'm in your cabin with my perscan off. He'll be very interested to hear…the kind of things you have us doing…together."

Kirk went bone-white. Surely he had not heard correctly, or else he had misunderstood. But no. The insinuation he read in T'Beth's eyes shocked and sickened him. His muscles tightened. "Child—and I use that term very loosely—do you really intend to say that to your father? Do you really want him to know what goes on in that head of yours?"

"He's not so innocent, himself," she countered with a careless toss of her chin. " _I'm_ proof of _that_. And once I tell him, he'll never, ever speak to you again."

Deep inside Kirk something snapped. "Why, you impudent, thoughtless, unprincipled little—" Catching hold of the startled girl, he dropped into a chair and flipped her over his knee. She was screaming in outrage even before his hand contacted her backside. Had she shown some sign of remorse, he might have let her off with a couple of swats and a stern lecture. But then she was blasting him with a dozen threats, and he was spanking her.

The threats gave way to shrieks of pain, and she fought him with a strength astounding for her size. Somehow he maintained his hold. She had earned this, and come what may, she would get everything she deserved. He swatted her until she wept real tears and begged him for mercy. Then he set her on her feet and stood before her, preventing any possibility of escape.

He could not exactly say that he had enjoyed the tussle, but there was a certain satisfaction in reducing T'Beth to a mere sobbing child. Perhaps there was still hope for her, after all. "Cristabeth," he said severely, "you're not worthy of that fine Vulcan name your father gave you. You're not worthy of _him._ I know your grandmother was sick on Ildarani, and it's my guess that you were pretty much running wild. Well, maybe Vulcan is just what you need—a good hard dose of Surakian discipline."

Her anguished weeping almost masked the doorchime and the hiss of the cabin door opening. But Kirk heard, and even before looking, guessed his visitor's identity. It seemed T'Beth was linked to the Vulcan equivalent of a perscan unit. If only that Vulcan radar could detect her mischief as easily.

With scarcely a twinge of guilt, Kirk said, " _This_ time I spanked her."

Spock's eyebrows drew into a frown that deepened as Kirk flexed his throbbing hand. Here was the LeMatya all over again, claws unsheathing in defense of his kit. But instead of going to her father, T'Beth ran for the bathroom. The door slid shut behind her, not quite blocking her sobs of distress.

Spock looked stonily at Kirk. "You have taken a great deal on yourself, but for the sake of our friendship I am endeavoring to withhold judgment."

At least he was acknowledging their troubled friendship. Kirk said, "I would never have done this without good reason. You know that."

"Do I?" Spock's jaw set hard as Vulcan granite. "I should be interested to hear your good reason."

Kirk shook his head. "No Spock, not from me. From _her._ " And he added, " _Give_ _her this chance."_

Spock silently considered the suggestion and its implications before going to the bathroom door. It was locked. "Come out," he ordered, neither gently nor harshly—an impartial tone that brought the sniffling girl out of hiding. With her dark hair in disarray and her eyes reddened, she edged into view.

"What happened here?" Spock asked her.

Kirk tensed, anticipating the worst sort of lies, but rather than answer, T'Beth hung her head and cried harder. The behavior drew no sympathy from her father. Clearly exasperated, Spock said, "Enough, child! No amount of whimpering will enlighten me— _or_ influence me."

As T'Beth struggled for self-control, Kirk found her some tissues. With downcast eyes she wiped at her tears, at her nose, and finally quieted a bit.

"Now answer," Spock ordered.

She looked ready to panic. Who knew what she might come out with? In the interest of self-preservation, Kirk prompted, "Start with that little performance in the gymnasium…then the crew…then how you managed to get in here."

T'Beth heaved a shaky sigh. Shamefaced and stumbling over each phrase, she confessed to all the contrived stories and twisted truths that had stirred up ship-wide resentment against the admiral. Slowly, painfully, it all came to light. By the time she had described her breaking and entering and snooping in Kirk's journal, he found himself almost pitying the child.

Through all this, he kept one eye on Spock. Kirk expected disappointment or anger, but there was definitely something more. Spock looked at his daughter strangely, almost as if he found her escapades…frightening.

It clearly took an effort for the Vulcan to speak. "T'Beth. I have told you that manipulative behavior is not acceptable. Why have you done this?" Her shrug brought a swift, sharp rebuke from her father. "That is _not_ an appropriate response. It is _never_ appropriate. Now answer me at once."

Fresh tears wet her cheeks. "I…I was worried…and…and afraid."

Spock looked bewildered. "You acted out of… _fear_?"

Suddenly it came clear to Kirk. What was it she had said? _Once I tell him, he'll never, ever speak to you again._ "Of course! She was worried about _me_ being here—afraid of what it would mean for the two of you. _She's_ the jealous one, Spock. You two have so little time together, and then _I_ showed up—an old friend she's probably heard plenty about."

T'Beth nodded miserably, but such a human explanation did not satisfy Spock. He still seemed uneasy as he looked long and hard at his daughter. "Is that all, then? Is there anything more that I should know?"

A slow blush spread over her cheeks and she aimed a silent plea at Kirk. The honest look of desperation made his heart go out to her. Suddenly he was remembering a few escapades from his own youth, along with their painful consequences. He had to speak up. "No, Spock. That's about it."

As Spock took in his daughter's keen embarrassment, the room filled with more of those disturbing undercurrents that Kirk did not understand. At length Spock said, "I see. Be assured, T'Beth, you and I will discuss this matter. Apologize to the admiral and wait for me in my quarters."

Wide-eyed and remorseful, T'Beth did as she was told. Clearly she was not looking forward to the private reckoning with her father. And neither was Spock, by the look of him.

After the child left, Kirk turned to his friend for a reckoning of his own. "Spock, _I_ apologize. I had no right. I lost my temper."

Spock's mind seemed to be elsewhere, as if it had followed T'Beth into the corridor. Very quietly he said, "I'm afraid I have done a poor job of imparting values— _and_ commanding the Enterprise. T'Beth's outrageous conduct has disrupted the entire crew. I was wrong to have kept her aboard."

Kirk smiled ruefully. "No, I think you were right. Spock, it takes more than three months to raise a kid. And _that_ kid definitely needs you."

The taut lines of Spock's mouth relaxed into a ghost of a smile. "Perhaps…"


	3. Chapter 3

On the day before Christmas, T'Beth was a very subdued young lady. Whatever had transpired in the captain's quarters resulted in a ship-wide explosion of good will toward Kirk. He had never collected so many apologies in his entire life.

"Dammit, I should've known better," Bones swore to him in private. "That rascal!" He shook his graying head as if the girl was beyond help, but his eyes held only affection. "If you'd just seen her at Ildarani, Jim. If you'd seen how she despised Spock…and how awkward _he_ was around her."

Kirk could only nod. "From what I've seen, Spock still doesn't quite know what to do with the kid. I've picked up some mighty strange vibrations between those two."

McCoy quickly dismissed the idea. "Oh Jim, a little strain is only natural, but they've both come one heck of a long way. Especially T'Beth. Yes, siree, I'll hate to see her go—especially into that straight jacket Vulcan culture."

Once again Kirk was left feeling that there was more to the situation than he knew, but as the crew opened up to him, he came to realize how many of them shared McCoy's sentiments. Everyone was trying hard to brighten T'Beth's last hours aboard ship. Her jealous scheming had almost spoiled things, but with the sudden resurgence of Christmas spirit, tonight's party was definitely on.

Kirk looked forward to the fun as he showered and dressed in his cleaned uniform. He was giving his boots a final buffing, wondering how Spock would stand up to an evening of human antics, when the doorchime sounded.

He opened the door expecting someone taller and older and much less lovely. "Bones—" He instantly corrected himself. "Rand!"

His former yeoman greeted him with a self-conscious smile. "I thought perhaps you could use an escort? Just to the rec deck, of course."

"Sounds great." With a pang of regret Kirk realized they had not crossed paths since his surprise beam-up. Stepping from his cabin, he cast a sly glance at Janice's shapely posterior. "Any tail feathers singed?"

"Oh, Admiral," she protested with a chuckle, then grew serious. "It wasn't too bad. The captain reminded me that despite your 'power of persuasion', he _is_ in command of the Enterprise."

"Ouch," Kirk said with a laugh.

They arrived at the lounge on a first name basis, and took in the enchanting scene. Music played softly, and through some genius of illusion, the Christmas display had been transformed from daytime reality to midnight dream. Silvery snowdrifts glowed under a fat alien moon in the canopy of stars overhead. At the gabble of happy voices, deer images lifted their heads and watched curiously from stands of birch. And rising from the middle of this moonlit wilderness was the Christmas tree, brilliant as a jewel, with a colorful jumble of presents heaped to its lower branches.

Kirk found himself enjoying Janice's company too much to part from her now. Crunching fake snow underfoot, he led them in. The party was spread through the clearings in a vaguely organized fashion—liquid refreshments near a small dance area, enough tasty nibbles beside the benches to keep the crew satisfied for hours. He paused with his companion to sample the official non-alcoholic punch before gazing once again at the star field with its fast-rising moon. He tried hard to place it from his memories of a hundred alien planets. _Now where had he seen that sky before?_

"Ildarani," answered a deep voice.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder, wondering if Spock had actually read his mind.

The Vulcan gazed back impassively. "It is the night sky of Ildarani and its major moon, as viewed from the southern hemisphere mid-winter. Of course, the flora and fauna are Earth based."

"No snow in New Florida, eh Spock?"

Rand said, "It's gorgeous, Captain."

"Yes," agreed Kirk, "and I'm frankly envious. All this makes my Enterprise bashes look like dime store cutouts."

Spock raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. "By the fact that you admit to envy, I assume your statement is in some manner complimentary. The credit for this project belongs entirely to my recreation director, Lieutenant Howe." More quietly he added, "May I point out, Jim, that your Enterprise was not equipped with holographic staging, nor did it have such a large recreational area. And the serious nature of your missions effectively ruled out such extravagant diversions."

 _True_ , thought Kirk, after the Vulcan moved on. The majority of Spock's assignments were training missions, minor patrols, and routine diplomatic jaunts. _Milk runs_. So far, this updated Enterprise had seen little action of the sort Kirk had encountered during his ten years of exploratory missions. But Spock did not resent his own comparatively dull captaincy. To the contrary, his primary role of educator was the only reason Spock continued in a position he had never actively sought—that of starship command. Last year, when Spock told him so, Kirk was annoyed. He had felt like shaking some ambition and vainglory into the unassuming Vulcan. He wanted Spock to rise up and demand better for himself—Jim Kirk's idea of better. He had even considered pulling a few top-level strings. Now, Kirk was glad he had resisted the temptation to meddle in his friend's life. Spock was Spock, and in the end Kirk had come to realize just how much that wet-nosed bunch of trainees meant to the Vulcan.

With a sigh he helped Janice and himself to the rapidly disappearing eggnog. One sip and he understood why it was off-limits to the trainees. By the taste of things, Scotty and who knows how many others, had been busily improving the recipe.

"Dangerous stuff," he warned Janice.

Her green eyes twinkled at him as she drank, and the night grew a little warmer. He thought of dancing.

"Yo, Jim!" McCoy burst onto the scene, grinning broadly at the sight of Kirk and Rand drinking together. "So that's why you stood me up! Well, never mind, now I've got a girl, too." He pulled someone out from behind him, and there stood T'Beth, looking abashed in the moonlight.

"A bit young for you, isn't she?" Kirk jibed unthinkingly. The embarrassing memory of T'Beth's insinuation made his face go hot.

"Let me tell you," McCoy drawled on, "never in my wildest stretch of imagination could I have pictured Leonard H. McCoy smitten with Spock's daughter."

"It _is_ unlikely," agreed Spock, who had at that moment arrived from another direction. Taking T'Beth by the arm, he escorted her away from the chuckling group.

With each passing hour and draining punch bowl, the party became more rambunctious. Someone discovered that the pseudo-snow packed realistically, and snowball fights began to erupt. The fact that Kirk was an admiral did not save him from several sneak attacks. Scooping up a few handfuls, he retaliated at the retreating backs. One of Scotty's boys from engineering brought in an improvised sled, and the younger crowd began skimming down a slope, shouting boisterously.

Through it all, as short shift crews came and went (some fortified for duty with Counternol tablets), Captain Spock maintained an outward show of Vulcan serenity. Kirk had to admire him, knowing how incomprehensible Spock found these human antics. Tonight, Kirk was quite content to be just another partygoer and let Spock do the worrying.

He was dancing with Rand again when a shower of buttered popcorn came their way. He pulled her into an alcove of real shrubbery. They laughed together, a little giddy from too much eggnog and brandied fruitcake.

"Look," Rand said, pointing to a sprig of mistletoe someone had tied to a branch. "I swear, that stuff is everywhere."

Kirk remembered a young captain's secret longing for his yeoman, and was on the verge of stealing a kiss from her now, when Doctor McCoy's face suddenly poked through the branches.

"Hey, you two, get out here! We're caroling!"

As they joined the other partygoers, the moon of Ildarani brightened. Kirk saw people he had missed for hours, all looking happy and content as they sang together. Most everyone knew the first verse to these traditional gems. After an encore of Deck the Halls, a pair of young trainees began sorting through the gifts and passing them along to their recipients.

Kirk felt a tug at his sleeve and turning, found a solemn-eyed waif. It was his first moment alone with T'Beth since he punished her. "Well," he said lightly, "what's this? Why aren't you in the middle of those presents?"

Her sober expression was sadly out of place on Christmas Eve. Was she remembering past Christmases with her deceased grandmother? Thinking of the upcoming goodbyes tomorrow? Once more, Kirk felt sympathetic as he bent to catch her softly spoken words.

"You still haven't told him."

Just as quietly he replied, "As things stand, I see no reason to. Agreed?"

She nodded so unhappily that he knew it would take a long while for her to put the whole incident behind her. _Good,_ he thought, _maybe there won't be a next time._ Chucking her under the chin, he said, "Hey, it's Christmas. Go open your presents—that's an order."

She took her place among the ship full of overgrown children delightedly tearing open their gifts. When last Kirk saw her, she was knee-deep in crumpled paper, working up to a smile. A pleasant weariness crept over him and he drifted toward Spock, who was observing the celebration from a discreet distance. McCoy stood at the Vulcan's side, quiet if not entirely sober, and Kirk sensed their mutual satisfaction in the simple act of companionship. He wondered if all the years of verbal sparring and countless well-aimed barbs had finally given way to some measure of understanding.

He broke into a hopeful grin. "Spock. Bones. Nice seeing you so…harmonious."

Spock looked as if he had been caught doing something improper.

McCoy scowled. "It's Christmas—'peace on Earth, good will toward men'. And though he may not like to admit it, Spock _is_ half human. In fact, his mother's a dear, warm-hearted woman who actually observes the yuletide season. Jim, did you know that she—"

"Doctor." Spock's withering glance silenced McCoy. "You have had too much to drink."

Snorting, McCoy kicked his way through the snow and scattered wrappings to the other side of the tree. Spock's eyes followed him for a time before turning hesitantly on Kirk. The Vulcan seemed about to speak. Then reaching into his jacket, he drew out a palm-sized box and said, "Merry Christmas, Jim."

 _Of all the unVulcan things—a Christmas present!_ The moment turned awkward. Kirk could not think of a single thing to say, so with an uncertain smile, he opened the velvety brown jeweler's case. At the flash of gold and diamonds, his eyes widened and he sucked in his breath.

The Vulcan quietly watched him pull the extraordinary ring from its bed of satin. Kirk examined its intricate design and recognized the pattern from his study of history. He slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand. It fit perfectly.

"Spock," he finally managed, "an Enterprise signet, an antique. It's beautiful." He held up his hand, letting moonlight dance through the diamond prisms. "How in hell did you ever find this?"

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "I happened upon it some months ago at a curio shop in Boston. It reputedly belonged to another admiral, though there is no firm evidence to support the tale."

Kirk buffed the glistening jewels on his sleeve and studied them for a long moment. "You had this…the whole time."

"Yes."

Kirk could only shake his head. The Vulcan never ceased to amaze him. "Spock, it's a very handsome ring, and I do appreciate it whether it belonged to a famous maritime admiral or a green midshipman. But…but you must have paid a fortune!" There, it was said. And the peculiar cant of Spock's brow, the bemused compressing of the Vulcan lips further roused his curiosity. "Well? I'm not asking for an exact figure…"

"Actually," Spock conceded in a rather smug tone, "there _was_ no…figure. The ring cost only a game of chess."

"You won it _gambling_?"

Spock's eyebrows climbed into his bangs. "I would hardly call it that!" Lowering his brows back to their customary level, he asserted, "It was more in the nature of a scientific experiment entailing well-defined, acceptable risk. Since the proprietor considered himself a chess master, I saw no reason not to indulge his lifelong wish to play chess with a Vulcan."

"But you're only half Vulcan," Kirk could not resist saying. "Did he know that?" Spock gave a little shrug. _Was he picking up T'Beth's habit? What next?_ Thoroughly amused, Kirk pressed, "I'd say your lack of disclosure voided the terms of the competition. I'd say you took advantage of that poor unsuspecting fellow."

Spock looked visibly disturbed. "Jim…I never considered…"

"Well, it's too late, you're not taking the ring back now." Kirk grinned. "Spock, I'm just giving you a hard time. Thank you, it's a wonderful gift."

It was approaching midnight when the party finally broke up. T'Beth had long gone to her bed. Worn but happy, the last of the crewmembers straggled to their cabins for a few hours of rest. Kirk's mind was on sleep as he helped carry Rand's gifts to her cabin and stacked them on a table inside. His yawn gave him away.

"Tired?" she asked.

"Uh-huh. But it _was_ fun, wasn't it?"

"It sure was," she mused. "Nice having you back, sir. Goodnight."

Her words held just the right touch of familiarity—and formality. Kirk was glad he had lost the opportunity to kiss her by the mistletoe. A transporter chief was as much off limits to a Starfleet officer, as was a yeoman. They parted as old friends.

ooooo

At 1300 hours, Kirk materialized on a craggy black hillside of hell. A searing windblast ripped away his breath, and he was coughing. Somewhere on his right he heard McCoy sputter. Shielding his eyes from the stinging whirl of grit, he peered in the opposite direction. He found T'Beth pressed to her father, peeking between her fingers at the alien trees twisting beneath a sand-choked crimson sky.

"Good grief!" cried McCoy. "Spock, I though you said there was a _bit_ of wind!"

Spock met the gale's force head-on, hair blowing wildly, an unmistakable look of pleasure in his squinting eyes. He breathed the thin, dirty air as if his lungs had long been starved for it. Raising his voice he said, "Custom prohibits beaming directly into a Vulcan home. The house is right here. Follow me."

Grumbling, McCoy fell in behind his captain, and Kirk took up the rear. They arrived at a sheltered porch and shook the worst of the storm from their clothes.

"This is it?" Kirk asked. The humble stone building and its austere setting were nothing like Sarek's landscaped estate in ShiKahr. It did not fit Kirk's idea of an ambassador's summer retreat.

Spock nodded. "This is our family encampment home." Turning, he attempted to arrange T'Beth's hair with his fingertips while carefully avoiding her apprehensive eyes.

It occurred to Kirk that the Vulcan was as nervous as T'Beth over this meeting, and perhaps a little guilty at surrendering her a second time. He could not help wondering what they were walking into. Getting impatient, he said, "Spock, there's only so much you can do. A few layers of dirt won't matter."

Spock straightened and looked at each of his friends in turn. "I want you to know that I appreciate your company, but I will understand if you'd rather leave now."

"Oh no you don't," gasped McCoy. "You don't drag us through a blast furnace on Christmas Day, just to dump us here on the porch. Open the door before we asphyxiate."

For once Spock yielded to doctor's orders. The restless wind swirled sand through the porch entry as he pressed the bell plaque. Only a courtesy, Kirk knew, for Spock immediately unlatched the door and they entered together.

A warm stillness welcomed them. It was one of those moments that seem to pass in slow motion, each detail engraving itself forever into memory. An old ceramic Christmas tree on a display table, its lights glowing. Spock's mother standing expectantly amid the Spartan furnishings of the main room. T'Beth's fingers white-knuckled, clutching her father's strong hand.

"Spock." Amanda's affectionate voice broke the spell. "Admiral Kirk, Doctor McCoy, welcome. Welcome, all of you."

"Mother," Spock said formally, then Kirk and McCoy offered their own greetings.

Amanda's gentle eyes glanced ruefully over their disheveled hair and dusty uniforms. The eyes found T'Beth, lingering almost hungrily before they moved on. "It may not be logical, but let me apologize for this horrid weather."

Kirk smiled. "Your son actually seemed to enjoy it."

"He would."

Spock shifted uncomfortably at the fond note of exasperation in his mother's voice. "I have never understood this human propensity for discussing the weather in tense situations. Mother, if you will please call Sarek…"

"Your father will be at ShanaiKahr until tomorrow." The news sent a flicker of pain over her son's face. "I'm sorry, Spock. He felt it necessary to go to the capital."

There was tightness in Spock's jaw as he nodded. "In that case I will present the child to you." Placing his hands firmly on T'Beth's shoulders, he brought her forward and announced, "This is T'Beth—daughter of my blood…and most beloved krenath."

 _Krenath!_ For one shocking instant Kirk feared he had spoken the ugly word aloud. But no one reacted—not Amanda, not even McCoy. They both watched dewy-eyed as if Spock had not just called his daughter a 'beloved bastard'.

Smiling warmly, Amanda extended a hand to the girl. "Won't you come here, T'Beth? I've been so looking forward to meeting you."

The child took a hesitant step and glanced back at her father. Reading approval, she took Amanda's hand and said very properly, "I'm glad to meet you, too. Father's told me that you're a very fine lady."

Amanda's eyes briefly twinkled up at her son. " _Did_ he now? And what _else_ did he say?"

Spock cleared his throat. "Mother, perhaps you can show her to her room and let her clean up while we rid ourselves of this dirt."

Kirk knew better than to expect a shower on Vulcan, where there were strict limitations on water usage. They stepped, by turns, into a sonic booth adjoining Spock's bedroom. The facilities included a clothes fresher that returned their uniforms to them fragrant and wrinkle-free. The pleasing alien scent reminded him of a past visit with Spock at ShiKahr. How very different that stay had been, compared to this quiet homecoming. None of Spock's Vulcan acquaintances here, no gathering of the clan. And most notable, no Sarek. And therein lay serious trouble, Kirk suspected.

Surely Spock would never have brought T'Beth into his parents' home without Sarek's approval, yet the untimely visit to ShanaiKahr smelled very much of disdain, even to a human nose. Kirk was beginning to think that McCoy was right about leaving T'Beth here. If Sarek could not accept his son's indiscretion, if even Spock introduced the poor kid as a bastard, what chance would she have in this tautly disciplined world?

McCoy finished dressing and left the room. Kirk pulled on his boots and looking up, found Spock frozen before the bedroom mirror, a comb absently held in one hand. For privacy's sake, he kept his voice low. "Spock…we need to talk."

The words drew a preoccupied glance from the Vulcan. Grooming his bangs into an impeccable fringe, he said just as quietly, "I'm listening."

Kirk stood. There was no tactful way to broach the subject. "Spock, is this really such a good idea? I mean, bringing T'Beth here…like this…with Sarek."

Spock's arm dropped and he faced Kirk. "T'Beth needs lessons in mental discipline that only Vulcan can provide. As for my father…" his voice trailed away.

"But Spock, they'll be living together in the same house. How will he treat her?"

Spock turned his head aside, as if suddenly threatened by emotions too powerful to control. He drew a slow, deep breath. "Jim, you must understand. T'Beth is not the problem. _I_ am." Kirk watched him absently finger the comb. In the mirror he glimpsed a brief half-smile that had nothing to do with gladness. "T'Beth is krenath. I don't believe I have ever explained the semantics of that word to you. It is simple, really, and quite logical. The krenath are the ' _wronged_ ones'. It is their parents who are 'shamed'."

Kirk released a sigh. "And now you think Sarek might be…shunning you…again?"

Spock closed his eyes. "I…don't know."

Kirk had seen Sarek in action. He had witnessed the last icy vestiges of his eighteen-year grudge against Spock for choosing Starfleet over Vulcan's Academy of Science. But that was all in the past, and wise men learned from their mistakes. Of course, Sarek might not consider it a mistake. "Spock, I can't believe someone of your father's standing would invite T'Beth into his home and then deliberately turn around and…and humiliate you."

Spock looked at him and slowly shook his head. "It is logical."

Kirk was tempted to voice his opinion of this unfeeling brand of logic, but to borrow a phrase from his unhappy friend, it 'would serve no useful purpose'.

"It _is_ logical," Spock repeated. "My personal failure might be seen as more than an embarrassment to the family. As both you and Doctor McCoy so recently pointed out, I am half human. Therefore, any weakness of mine could ultimately reflect poorly on Sarek's choice of wife. It might be said that he showed bad judgment in marrying her."

Kirk found his mouth hanging open. "But Spock, he must have considered that. Public opinion can't be all that important to your father if he's willing to help raise T'Beth."

Again, the strange half smile. "Jim, he has no choice. The status of krenath affords T'Beth certain privileges on Vulcan. She _can't_ be denied admittance into the family. She _must_ be welcomed." Spock looked aside and retreated into his thoughts. "I am asking myself why I really brought T'Beth here. Was it for lessons in mental discipline? For the care my mother can provide? Or…for once…to bend my father to _my_ will."

Kirk came over and put a hand on Spock's shoulder. Clearly the Vulcan would have no peace until he faced Sarek and settled any problems between them. For that, Spock needed more than the day's layover his schedule permitted. Excitement fluttered through Kirk's stomach. Withdrawing his hand, he twisted the Enterprise signet around his finger in what was fast becoming a habit.

"Spock," he began, "you've given me a beautiful gift. Thoughtful, appropriate, well chosen. When I accepted this ring, I felt some regret because I had nothing to give you in return. I'd found no _thing_ right for you. Until now." Spock gave him a quizzical look, and Kirk hoped he had read his Vulcan right. "Effective immediately, I'm granting you a leave of absence to set your personal affairs in order. Provided, of course, that you will trust me with your ship for…" he did some quick figuring. "Should six days be enough?"

Spock exhaled so loudly that Kirk suspected he had been holding his breath. "The distance to Ceti-Mega Four and back again. More than sufficient, Admiral. More than…generous." He paused significantly. "I suppose you would call this…'saving my ass'?"

Kirk's delighted chuckle ended on a serious note. "Your ass and my sanity. You know how I feel about the Enterprise. I'll get as much enjoyment commanding her, as you did from that game of chess in Boston. Maybe even more." And though it was hard to imagine Spock ever being merry, he added, "Merry Christmas."

ooooo

At the unexpected news, T'Beth hugged Spock and kissed his cheek in front of everyone, sending a green flush all the way to his ear tips. "Really, Father? You're really staying six whole days?"

Amanda observed the unlikely scene with one hand hiding her mouth while her eyes danced with amusement.

Gently disengaging himself from the child, Spock informed his mother, "I'm afraid she can be rather impetuous."

"Impetuous, my Aunt Matilda!" McCoy blustered at the Vulcan. "There's nothing the least bit wrong with _that_ girl. She enjoys a full, healthy range of emotions, and don't you forget it."

Kirk nudged the doctor's arm, and McCoy subsided into a disapproving silence that held while T'Beth's luggage was beamed down. A brief search of Spock's bedroom yielded everything he would need for his stay. Through all the preparations T'Beth's eyes hardly left her father as she tagged along, constantly under foot. She seemed afraid to let him out her sight, as if he might suddenly change his mind and sparkle away in a transporter beam.

After dinner, it was time for Kirk and McCoy to leave. T'Beth danced with excitement, knowing that she would soon have Spock—almost—to herself. For now, Spock attempted to ignore her as he gave the admiral some final instructions. "Mister Sulu can brief you on the current situation at Ceti-Mega Four, and you will find the trainees' curriculum fully organized—that is, if you have the inclination to teach…"

"I'll manage somehow," Kirk assured him, "but it looks like _you'll_ have your hands full with that girl of yours. Any second thoughts, Spock?"

"No!" cried T'Beth. "You promised!"

The Vulcan shook his head with grave certainty. "It is all the more reason for me to stay."

 _Yes,_ thought Kirk, _a child so irrepressibly human will raise many an eyebrow in this stoic land._ Not only must Spock stand accountable to his father, he must face all of Vulcan unashamed of T'Beth's exuberant, undisciplined nature. Kirk could almost hear the time bomb ticking away. He wondered if, in Spock's place, he would have the same courage.

Together with McCoy, he made his farewells. Turning lastly to Spock, he reached out, custom be damned, and clasped the Vulcan's hand. "Take care, then."

"Journey safe." Spock firmly returned the pressure before stepping clear of the transport field.

As Kirk reached for his com badge, T'Beth rushed forward with a last minute hug for the doctor. McCoy held the child tight, and his gruff voice admonished, "Y'all behave, now. And keep in touch."

After a damp moment, T'Beth straightened and looked timidly at Kirk. "Goodbye again, Admiral."

"Bye, kiddo." He couldn't seem to swallow. "Be good. I don't want to hear any bad reports about you. Understood?" T'Beth's eyes held him as she backed to her father and grandmother, and he called to the Enterprise. Her nod was the last thing Kirk saw as he faded into transport…

Cool, oxygen-rich air greeted him. Kirk bounded from the transporter platform feeling energetic and light in the Earth gravity. His gaze darted over the transport crew and settled on Chief Rand. He smiled.

Rand smiled back. "Welcome aboard, Admiral. Doctor McCoy."

"Whew," breathed McCoy, fingers pressed to his temple, "my head's splitting. Don't know how Amanda stands it down there. It's no place for T'Beth, that's for sure."

"She _is_ part Vulcan," Kirk reminded him. On the way out, he glimpsed the ponderous red planet on the small transporter room view screen. His thoughts were with Spock as they passed into the corridor and entered the turbolift together.

"Bridge," he selected. _First order of business, announce the change of command._

"Sick bay," McCoy said before he broke into a doting grin. "Did you see T'Beth's face when he told her he was staying?"

"Like a kid on Christmas morning." Kirk managed a distracted smile. "That girl's a survivor, mark my words. It's Spock who worries me."

At the mention of his captain, McCoy went dead sober. "Considering the strain of this krenath business, I think he's bearing up remarkably well. But then, Spock usually does."

Kirk made a vague sound of agreement. Then, all at once, it struck him. "This krenath business? So you know what that means? How much has Spock told you about the past…about T'Beth's mother?"

"Stop." McCoy's voice command froze the turbolift in its shaft. He turned to Kirk. "How much has he told _you?"_

Kirk stroked his chin as he considered. "Not as much as I'd like—for instance, how he happened to fall for Adrianna Lemoine in the first place. As I recall, he was betrothed to T'Pring at the time. It's hard to imagine Spock being unfaithful."

"Yeah. It is hard to figure." At that, McCoy went quiet. He touched the manual control override, and the lift began moving.

"Wait a minute." Kirk reached out and hit the stop button. "Spock said she was a halfling. What can you tell me about her? You were her doctor aboard ship."

"Uh-huh, Jim. I _was_ her doctor—so you ought to know that I can't disclose any personal information."

"Bones, she's _dead_. She's been gone for years."

"She was the mother of Spock's child. Anything you want to know, ask _him_."

Kirk searched McCoy's determined face and was surprised at what he found. "Well, I'll be… This is about Spock, isn't it? You're protecting _his_ privacy. You two really have grown closer."

The doctor looked somewhat embarrassed. "Oh, we still have our disagreements—like his taking T'Beth to Vulcan. I think that outsized string bean wants to turn her into the high priestess of Seleya…" Restarting the lift, McCoy launched into a full-blown tirade against Spock, Vulcan, and the general hazards of emotional suppression. Kirk listened, shaking his head. Probably nothing short of divine intervention would bring those two into perfect accord.

McCoy was still airing complaints and rubbing at his temple when the lift opened onto the bridge. "…so now everyone's happy as Triacus Moon Dancers. T'Beth has her father, Spock has his leave, and you have the Enterprise. Tell me, Jim. What the heck do _I_ get—besides this miserable headache?"

As Kirk rolled his eyes, something odd entered his field of vision. A sprig of limp foliage dangled from the lift ceiling, just a few inches above their heads. Breaking into a grin, he plucked the mistletoe and stuffed it into McCoy's hand. "Here, Bones. Get yourself an aspirin and go find someone to kiss."

He hopped out of the lift before McCoy could react. The doors snapped shut behind him, sending the doctor on his way. What a visit this had turned out to be, and the best was yet to come. A startled junior officer rose from the center seat and announced the admiral's presence. Kirk settled into the command chair. Shifting his weight, he enjoyed the feel of it before opening the intercom for a general announcement.

"This is Admiral James T. Kirk. Captain Spock has decided to remain on Vulcan for a few days. In his absence, I am assuming command of the Enterprise—enter into the log, 1938 hours. All duty personnel to your stations and prepare to leave orbit."


End file.
